Jenkies
by KuryakinGirl
Summary: While preparing for a fundraiser for the Westside Medical Center Pediatrics Wing, some peculiar things start happening. If only there were professionals to take care of the issues… Sequel to Zoinks!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer—Recognizable characters belong either to Josh Schwartz and Chris Fedak or Eric Kripke. No copyright infringement intended. Any similarity to events or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Author's Notes—I love Halloween, Chuck, and Supernatural. The meshing of those three things only seemed natural. Hope y'all enjoy. Endless thanks to the wonderfully talented Night_Lotus_Blossom for being so kind to beta this for me. So glad to know you, NL. Much love! All mistakes are mine.

Timeline: Season 1 for Chuck; Season 3 for Supernatural.

Jenkies—While preparing for a fundraiser for the Westside Medical Center Pediatrics Wing, some peculiar things start happening. If only there were professionals to take care of the issues… Sequel to Zoinks!

* * *

Ellie Bartowski frowned. While they were going for 'scary,' they weren't going for 'terrifying,' and John Casey was rather good at applying red paint to look like blood splatter in the butcher's room of the haunted house labyrinth they were creating. It looked… beyond authentic. Playing with the charm on her necklace, she hesitantly spoke. "Um, John?"

The large man, dressed in all black, turned.

"Maybe a little less blood?"

"Isn't this a butcher's shop?"

"Yes, but… we don't want children having nightmares, do we?"

He grunted slightly. "I'll… see what I can do."

She offered him a soft smile. "Thank you." Before she left, she touched his arm lightly. "You're doing a great job, by the way. I think we're going to have the best haunted house fundraiser ever."

Casey looked at her, his blue eyes meeting her gaze for a moment. He wasn't exactly fond of being touched, but he knew she wasn't a threat. Hesitantly, he nodded.

Ellie moved along the darkened corridor to the next room, the jail cell.

Her brother, Chuck, was mournfully singing as he screwed the fake sink to the wall. "Nobody knows… the trouble I've seen…"

"Maybe not yet, but in a week's time, they will," Ellie returned.

He jumped, turning to see her. "Oh, hey, sis…" He chuckled slightly. "How's it lookin'?"

She nodded. "Looks pretty amazing. Everybody's doing so tremendously. I'm even a little scared and we have all the lights on instead of the strobe lights, the black lights…"

"It's a little different, though, being on _this_ side of the haunted house. The knowing-what's-coming side."

"For the most part," she agreed.

"How's Sarah doing?" he asked, moving toward the bars, leaning against them lightly—while they could withstand some pressure, they weren't actual bars; they could cave if he wasn't careful.

"She's got some amazing makeup skills. I wouldn't have guessed that she wanted to be a Hollywood makeup artist."

"She's… full of surprises," Chuck said with a nod. While he couldn't be sure that it wasn't true, he had a good guess that it wasn't, that it was just Sarah Walker's elite spy skills at work.

"Well, she's also full of luck, to have caught you."

"Aww, shucks, sis, are we back at this? This relationship is so… new, y'know?"

"I sense good things. That's all I'm saying."

Chuck raised an eyebrow. "Are you psychic now?"

"Call it… sister's intuition," grinned Ellie.

It was hard not to call it a good thing when his sister's smile lit up her whole face. Chuck relented. "All right, then."

"Your friend John is doing a great job, too. They're both scary good at this…"

Chuck shrugged a little, imagining how they might've used those skills before, faking deaths of important people, tricking international criminals… The possibilities were endless. "Did I ever tell you about the time, at Stanford, when we went to a _real_ haunted house? Me, Bryce, Jill… some others."

Ellie's grin shifted, from proud and happy, to bemused. "A real one, Chuck? Ghosts aren't real…"

"Well, no, we didn't see any then either, but it was… it was a pretty fun night, if a little scary."

"I'm glad you lived to tell the tale… and it's probably a good thing you didn't tell me you were planning on going at the time."

"Yeah, Bryce said you'd talk me out of going."

"Bryce always was smart…"

"Yeah, he was…"

Rather than dwelling on the past, Ellie quickly led the conversation forward. "You need anything to finish this up?"

Chuck glanced around the room. "Nah. I'll have us up and going in no time," he said, squeezing the trigger on his cordless power drill.

"I'll leave you to it, then," she said before slipping further down the maze.

The hallway was again painted a simple black. While she knew that some haunted houses operated with better budgets, and even the hallways were haunted, they were doing the best they could with the money they had to set up. They needed to do better than breaking even, if they wanted to be of any help to the hospital at all, which was why Ellie had recruited Chuck, who had in turn recruited Sarah, Casey, and even Morgan Grimes.

While she was busy pondering how much was left in her budget—pennies mostly—she was completely distracted. So, when a deafening _bang_ sounded in the corridor behind her, she shrieked.

* * *

Casey dropped the bucket of red paint, never minding that it sloshed out a bit onto his pants and the floor as he raced toward the sound of the scream. As he passed Chuck in the jail cell, the Intersect had trouble trying to get out.

"Ellie," Chuck said. "I know that was Ellie!"

"Stay put, Bartowski," Casey barked, as he rushed deeper into the haunted house.

"But—I—"

Casey didn't respond, he just continued on, finding Ellie crouched down, her arms over her head. "Ellie?"

She was shaking as she looked back at him. At seeing his familiar, concerned face, she moved, like a tightly coiled spring suddenly loosed, into his arms. "John!"

His trained eyes scanned the area. There didn't seem to be anything necessarily out of place, excepting for the square hole in the wall behind her. He knew that Devon Woodcomb had been putting in what he'd called "awesome gags"—things that would happen when the visitors were distracted by things across the hall. Windows would appear in the otherwise solid wall, and someone in makeup could reach out and scare the visitors. But, there was no one in the narrow corridor behind that wall. And he knew, too, that the windows were all latched securely in place the night before, when Devon had put them in. It seemed highly unlikely that it could've fallen on its own. "You're all right," he assured her.

She wasn't so sure, and she didn't let go of him immediately, not until Chuck finally arrived. It wasn't exactly a good image, she was sure, to be in someone else's arms, when her boyfriend was somewhere on the premises.

"What happened?" Chuck asked, fearful.

"I think we had a prop malfunction," Casey said, peeking his head through the opening in the wall. Both the gate latch and its receptacle seemed in good working order—the screws were tight and secure. There was no way it could've opened without someone interfering, but he wasn't about to say that in front of a terrified Ellie.

"I told Devon not to put those up yet…" Ellie said, feeling her pounding heart with a hand on her chest.

"Why don't you go get some air?" Casey asked.

Ellie nodded.

"Bartowski, send Walker back here," Casey said quietly.

Chuck looked at him questioningly, but nodded.

Casey frowned deeply once he was alone. He smelled something out of place. It seemed metallic, but the next room was filled with whirring motors—a rusted out boiler room. The only way to access the tiny room with the fake window, though, was through a carefully camouflaged panel in the boiler room. As he entered, he pulled his sidearm, carefully entering and maneuvering through the tiny corridor. There were pieces of reflective tape every few feet on the floor, and two pieces crossed to form an "x" in front of the window, because the room would be lit only with black light on the nights the haunted house was in operation.

Upon closer inspection, he noticed some bit of goo on the wall, near where the latch had been securely fastened at the top of the fake window. For lack of a better description, it looked like thick, sludgy motor oil. Dipping his finger into it, it felt cold, and it slid easily between his index finger and thumb. It didn't smell like oil; it was nearly overpoweringly metallic, which didn't make much sense at all.

"Casey?" Sarah asked, emerging into the corridor from the jail cell room.

"In here," Casey said, still puzzling over the goo on his fingers.

"What is that?"

"I don't know. Got something I can store it in?"

Sarah checked the pockets of the apron she wore, coming up with a small round plastic case, with a lid that screwed on. "It held contacts. Morgan looks pretty scary…"

Casey scoffed, scooping some of the goo into the case. "Grimes? Scary?"

"I do good work."

"I'll get this analyzed."

"You don't think somebody's trying to get to Chuck here, do you?"

"He's our best intelligence resource. Somebody's always trying to get to him, whether they realize it or not."

"But, going so far as to do something to a haunted house for charity?"

"I don't put anything past anybody," Casey responded gruffly.

"It's getting late. Maybe we should call it a day, clear out of here?"

"Agreed," Casey said with a grunt.

* * *

The silence was deafening, and not just because it meant that they could hear the rumble of the well-tuned Impala louder than normal. Dean Winchester's jaw was set tightly, so tightly it might've cracked a lesser man's jaw. His brother Sam stared out the window, watching the scenery roll past. Sam was willing to chalk it up to bad luck, but Dean had insisted that it had been intentional. They were wasting precious time, having to go on the hunt for replacement parts to their paranormal investigative equipment. While the off-the-rack models were good for the amateurs, the sensitivity was severely lacking when it came to what they, the professionals, needed.

And considering the duffel of equipment had been tossed over a fence only to be landed on by one lanky, younger brother and crushed with a completely heartbreaking crunching sound, it meant having to restock.

Dean pulled into the parking lot of the Buy More in Burbank, California. "I'll get the pieces for the EMF; you get the infrared."

"I don't think they sell Walkmans here…"

The elder Winchester offered a fake laugh. "I said I'd get the EMF, didn't I?"

"It was an accident, Dean; you can't hold it against me forever."

"Considering forever's pretty short for me? I absolutely can."

Sam closed his eyes. He knew that Dean was close to death—too close for his liking—and it was because of him, which wasn't exactly a settling thought either. He was still hopeful that they could turn the tide, that they could undo the deal that Dean made with the crossroad's demon, but he wasn't sure if that meant that he would go back to being dead in his brother's place or not. The whole thing made his head hurt. While he didn't really remember being dead, he occasionally saw the look in his brother's eyes, the look that clearly said without words that he was lucky to be alive and walking around.

In Sam's opinion, they were both too young to die. They had so much work to do. Even with Azazel gone—the impetus for their hunting—there were other things that threatened humanity and that needed to be killed. While there were other hunters, there were plenty of things to hunt.

While Dean had hunted on his own before, Sam really hadn't and didn't really want to. He wasn't sure what would happen at the end of the year. If he didn't succeed in finding some way to fix it, he didn't want to consider the alternative.

As they entered the store, they immediately divided to conquer. As Dean headed for the audio side of the store, Sam headed for the visual.

The overly made up Anna Wu watched the long-legged, lanky Winchester look at video display screens. Grinning, she slipped from where she'd sat perched on the Nerd Herd desk to make her way toward him. "Hello there…"

Sam glanced at her, offering a quick nod. "Hi."

"Is there… something I can help you find? Something you need?" she asked, running her painted fingernails along her ID lanyard.

"If I need help, I will let you know," he told her as politely as he could.

"Because if there's something that you want to _see_, I'd be more than happy to show it to you…"

Sam felt increasingly uncomfortable with her there. More than that, he felt eyes on him and turned, spotting yet another Nerd Herder standing there, his head tilted slightly to one side, gazing longingly at _her_, thankfully, and not him, but when the older man with wild, unkempt hair looked at Sam, he made a threatening gesture, running a thumb across his neck. However, the man continued, adding slashes across his wrists, then a rather embarrassing Psycho impersonation.

"Jeff!" hissed someone in another aisle, and the man stopped.

"Well, thank you, but, I'm… I'm fine," Sam said, picking up a display screen he felt he could add onto their partially destroyed rig.

"Can I take that to check you out? To check out for you?" she corrected.

Sam moved to flee the aisle, choosing to ignore her last question. As he did so, he nearly ran into yet another tall, lanky person with floppy hair talking with the guy who'd been staring. It was someone who looked familiar… He blinked. "Chuck?"

The Intersect turned, his dark eyes widening. "Sam?"

Sam nodded, a smile forming on his face. "How are you? How've you been?"

"I could ask you the same," he said, moving to envelop his old college pal in a hug. "I…" He pulled back. "I was so sorry to hear about Jess…"

Jeff took the moment to slink back, extricating himself from the disciplinary discussion he'd been having with Chuck moments before.

Sam gave a slightly pained smile. "It's been difficult."

"I can imagine. Either we're bad luck or we're lucky… Bryce died, too, earlier this year."

"Bryce? You're kidding…"

"It was a shock to me, too."

"I'm sorry."

"Like I said… either bad luck or lucky, I'm really not sure which. How's… how's law? Are you practicing in California?"

Sam cleared his throat uncomfortably. "After Jess, I didn't go back."

"I… well, as you can see, I didn't exactly go far either," Chuck said, showing Sam the ID on his pocket protector.

"A job's a job. Something you do and get paid for, that's… respectable." Sam felt a wave of sudden shame.

"What are you up to now?" Chuck asked.

"Oh, y'know, just… wandering, really, on the road with my brother. Taking a break from the daily grind."

"Your brother?"

Sam suddenly felt panicked, as he remembered Chuck had _seen_ his brother before, and Sam hadn't bothered to introduce them. After all, he was trying to maintain his reputation and introducing that "creepy guy" as his brother wouldn't have gone over well. He hoped Chuck didn't remember that night as clearly as he did. "My older brother, Dean."

"I didn't realize you had an older brother…"

"We weren't close for a while, but we are now again." Sam glanced around, spotting Dean, with an armload of items, heading toward him. "I hate to run, Chuck, but I kinda have to… have to go."

"You can't even spare a lunch? There's this pretty good hot dog place next door…"

"I really don't know. My brother's on a timetable…"

"I'd love to meet him at least. You remember Ellie, don't you?"

"Best Thanksgivings ever, spending them with you and Ellie and your friend… Matt?"

"Morgan," Chuck corrected easily.

"Morgan, that's right," he said with a nod.

"Sammy?" Dean asked, appearing suddenly in the aisle. "Let's go."

"Dean, real fast… this is Chuck, from Stanford. Chuck, this is my brother, Dean."

Chuck took a step toward him, holding his hand out to him. "Any brother of Sam's has gotta be great. This guy, here, one of my best friends in college," he said, nodding toward Sam.

Dean, however, didn't have a hand to extend, considering his arms were laden with packages. "Nice to meet you, but we gotta jet."

"Even you guys have to eat, right? Chuck said. "There's a place right next door, won't take ten minutes once we order, I promise."

Seeing the puppy dog look on his brother's face, Dean rolled his eyes. "You guys go on. Order me something _edible_, Sam, and I'll check out. Let you catch up…"

Sam carefully placed the screen atop Dean's armload.

"It's the Wienerlicious. And it's all delicious over there," Chuck said.

"Can't wait," Dean said, with his best fake smile that Sam recognized instantly.

While he was thankful that Dean was speaking to him cordially in front of Chuck, he knew that it meant Dean would take his meal to go.

Chuck glanced back at Casey, who had been watching—leering, really—from the aisle over. "Going on lunch break," he called. "Gotta introduce one of my best friends from college to Sarah…"

"Sarah?" Sam asked.

"My, uh… my girlfriend," Chuck said with a nod. "She works over there. She's… she's somethin' else."

"Can't wait to meet her."

Casey watched as they started to go, as Dean headed for the checkout. He moved back toward the home theater room, to give Sarah the heads-up that Chuck was coming with an unknown, to be on alert, and to let him know if she needed help.

Once Dean had placed everything on the counter to check out, Chuck looked back at him. His brown eyes landed on the unique pendant he wore around his neck, and then his gaze unfocused. Chuck was bombarded with images—police reports, grizzly crime scene photos, and notices of Dean Winchester's _death_.

As his mind cleared and he stepped into the sunshine with Sam, he chuckled nervously. "So, what is it that your brother does? When he's not on a road trip and buying a lot of surveillance type equipment?"

Sam glanced at him, remembering the story he'd told to their mutual friend Becky. While he wasn't sure if Chuck had kept up with Becky, Sam did feel that Becky would protect their identity, that she might remember the initial story. "He's a cop. He's… curious and paranoid by nature."

"Oh, yeah? That's… that's interesting… Both brothers, interested in the law… I do remember you talking about your dad, how you said that going to school made you like the black sheep… is he a cop, too?"

The lie tasted terrible, but he said it anyway. "Yeah. Yeah, he was."

Chuck caught the past-tense. "He's gone?"

"About a year, year and a half ago now, I guess." Sam paused in their walk. "That's really weird to think about."

"I'm so sorry, Sam."

Sam shrugged.

As they entered the Wienerlicious, Sarah smiled at them. "Guten tag."

Chuck walked with Sam to the counter. "Sarah, this is one of my best friends from college, Sam Winchester."

Sarah mentally checked the list of people Bryce talked about from Stanford, and she did vaguely remember a Sam. "It's very nice to meet you, Sam."

"You, too," Sam said with a nod.

"And he has a big brother, Dean. Dean Winchester. They're on a road trip, it's um… it's interesting, how he's a cop," he said, doing his best to subtly use finger quotes. "Really… flashy…"

"Oh, wow," Sarah said, putting on her best innocent smile as she turned to Sam. "Does he carry a weapon?"

"He has permits, being a cop and all," Sam said, realizing that something felt suddenly _wrong_. "Why?"

In one swift movement, Sarah hit a button on the underside of the counter and drew her service weapon, aiming it squarely at Sam. "Call Casey," she told Chuck.

"And tell him what?"

"What you flashed on."

Sam stood still, his hands up. "What's going on, Chuck?"

"Just… I'm sorry, Sam…" He fumbled for his cell phone.

* * *

Casey listened as Chuck described what he'd seen in his flash, watching Dean from cover. As Chuck explained, he saw the familiar bulge at the back of Dean's waistband—it was where he hid his weapon, too, while undercover. "On it," he responded quietly.

As soon as the elder Winchester checked out, Casey followed him into the parking lot.

While Dean felt there was someone following him, he didn't properly have an opportunity to react, as Casey tackled him to the ground.

Dean felt his weight and that of the man on top of him combined, crushing their newly purchased equipment. "Son of a bitch," he grumbled.

"Pretty active for someone who's supposed to be a _dead man_," Casey grunted before hauling Dean to his feet, holding him in a headlock.

While Dean struggled, he only managed a few well placed elbows to Casey's gut. He wasn't able to do much damage, not being held the way that he was.

It wasn't easy, but Casey succeeded in hauling Dean to the Wienerlicious.

Chuck unlocked the door, letting them in, and Dean was thrown into the center of the room.

Before Dean could pull his weapon, Casey had his drawn, aimed at Dean's chest.

Sam sighed heavily. "I'm going to go with 'bad luck,' Chuck."

* * *

Stay tuned…

Lines from the next installment:

Moving to pick up the box that had somehow moved halfway across the room, she felt the room suddenly grow colder, cold enough that she wished she had a sweatshirt or jacket. Rubbing absently at her arm, she bent to collect the box before turning back to where she'd been working.

A woman stood before her whose hair was unkempt and clothes were dated; her head was tilted at a strange angle.

Ellie dropped the box, fighting against the urge to scream. "I'm sorry, we're not opened yet. You'll have to come back this weekend."

"You should leave. Now."


	2. Chapter 2

For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.

Here are a couple things you might need to know, or maybe you just forgot—the road so far: Ellie enlists Chuck, Casey, and Sarah to help make Westside Medical's Haunted House fundraiser a success, only to encounter a strange happening. Then, Dean and Sam Winchester stop in to restock at Buy More only to run into Sam's old college pal, Chuck, who flashes on Dean—and the fact that he's supposed to be dead.

* * *

"So, what is this?" Dean asked, still seated on the ground, his hands raised slightly. "Some kinda freaky version of Punk'd with college classmates? Lemme guess, the big guy has a hidden camera somewhere?"

Chuck laughed nervously.

"I think the more interesting question might be: Why does a guy working at a Buy More need bodyguards?" Sam asked. "See the ring?"

Dean eyed the hands that were aiming a weapon at him. "Marine, huh?"

"You're an enemy of the state," Casey stated matter-of-factly to Dean. "And your 'brother' must be an accomplice."

"Enemy of the state?" Dean repeated, amused. "I don't think 'buying crap at your stupid store' equals an act of terrorism. Which, by the way, you're replacing all those things I just bought since you're the reason they're crushed."

Sam shot a questioning look at Dean, who was slowly getting to his feet.

Casey took a step forward, his voice clear and even as he said: "Don't move."

"Marines have a code of honor. You shoot me on no proof? That's not really honorable, is it?" Dean challenged.

"I'm not that kinda Marine," Casey responded.

Sarah glanced at her partner. While the _old_ Casey might've shot first, asked questions later, he had been playing more by the book since taking the Intersect project. The _new_ Casey was at least a little more understanding. She hoped that the newcomer didn't provoke the old Casey back again.

"Doesn't matter how long it's been since you've served. Once a Marine, always a Marine. Just like my dad."

Chuck turned to his friend, Sam, who had the same saddened expression when they'd spoken about his deceased father.

"What's a flash?" Sam asked. "How did you know all that stuff about Dean?"

"Don't answer that, Bartowski," Casey said, moving his gun from Dean to Sam.

Dean took the momentary distraction to move, rushing at Casey. The Marine's sidearm was suddenly on the floor, and Dean landed a solid right cross to the older man's face.

Sarah slid over the counter, to assist her partner, but Sam couldn't let her. As much as he wasn't fond of fighting women, he disarmed her, before blocking all of her attacks, standing his ground. While he advanced on her slightly, he never took the initiative to throw a punch. Instead, he just kept himself between her and his brother.

Chuck slid back into the corner, wincing at every punch thrown.

Casey landed a painful kick to Dean's leg, and the elder hunter hit the ground. Before Casey could dive for his weapon, however, Dean threw a knife from the interior pocket of his jacket, catching the Marine in the arm, tearing through the green cotton of the Buy More polo and cutting into skin.

While Sarah did her best to muscle past Sam, he wasn't letting her. "Casey?" she called out.

"I'm fine," he returned through clenched teeth. Though the knife hadn't stuck in his arm, he grabbed it from the floor at his feet, tossing it back at Dean, who narrowly escaped the business end of his own weapon meeting his leg.

Dean, however, had the time to pull his gun, and Casey had to freeze. "You want the Marine dead, keep fightin'," he said to Sarah, never taking his eyes off of Casey.

Sarah slowly stopped.

"Okay, so, Sarah and Casey are really good, and Sam and Dean are really good, too. Can't we call this one a draw, instead of going two for three?" Chuck asked hopefully.

"Chuck, we don't want to hurt anybody, but we need to know what you know... who you work for, how you knew that stuff... where you got it from," Sam explained.

"We don't have time for this, Sammy," Dean said, wanting more than anything just to leave. He didn't even care that Casey had managed to destroy what they had just purchased—mostly because one of his many aliases had taken care of the bill.

"You were right," Chuck said. "These are my bodyguards. I know things..."

"Dammit, Bartowski," growled Casey.

"I can't say what exactly, but I've seen files on your brother, files that the government have," Chuck explained.

Dean sighed heavily. "I'm dead; can't they leave it at that?"

"Except, you aren't dead. You're standing here, and you... you do really bad things to people, so please don't kill my friends," Chuck said, hoping to keep the fright out of his voice.

"That wasn't Dean," Sam explained.

"Whoa, Sam..." The elder hunter looked at his younger brother. Was he really just about to spill the secret, to tell outsiders—outsiders who wanted them dead—about the family business?

"It wasn't Dean; it was someone who looked like Dean," Sam explained.

"Dean or... fake Dean, whoever it was, it had that necklace," Chuck said, pointing at the amulet.

"It was stolen at the time," Sam responded, then he paused. "Wait... you've seen the files? So you know who else was involved..."

Chuck nodded, going through the list of names—of the deceased, of the victims. He paused when he said: "Rebecca Warren... Wait? Bryce's Becky?"

"We were there to help her," Sam said with a nod.

"More college connections, huh?" asked Dean. "This is why we don't form attachments," he said in a harsh whisper.

"My college connections may get us out of this," Sam returned quietly.

"Nobody's getting out of anything," Casey said sternly.

"Oh, cool it, Jolly Green Giant," Dean huffed.

"Becky Warren... But, he was killed," Chuck said, pointing at Dean, "when he was going after Becky Warren."

"His... doppelganger..." Sam explained. "Not Dean."

Chuck had a hard time making the story make sense. "But, Dean's the one who took the fall."

"Look, we aren't murderers, we just... don't exactly travel within the confines of the law all the time," Sam explained.

"So the cop story was just something to throw us off, when your brother would have a weapon?" Sarah asked.

Sam nodded.

"None of this is adding up," Casey pointed out.

"All right, so let's just... lower our gun," Sam said, pointedly at his big brother, "and we'll have a discussion... nobody'll get arrested, nobody'll get shot."

Reluctantly, Dean slowly lowered his weapon.

"Can't guarantee about the arrested part," Casey grunted.

"Yeah, well, Sammy can't guarantee the shot part either," Dean said, his gun still in his hand.

"So, what are you?" Chuck asked. "What do you do?"

The words were difficult to get out, mostly because it was just peculiar to admit it to anyone if they hadn't seen something outrageous yet. But, Sam was certain that Chuck would help him in any way that he could. "We're hunters."

Dean sighed heavily.

"Hunters? What, like... deer? Bear? Duck?" asked Chuck.

"Like ghosts," Sam explained.

"There's no such thing," Casey and Sarah said almost immediately and in unison.

"Terrorists aren't the only threat out there," Dean begrudgingly admitted.

"If your defense is going to be 'crazy,' then take it up with your lawyer," said Casey, shaking his head. "We're done here."

As Casey started to take a step forward, Dean raised his gun again.

Both Sam and Chuck were trying to appease the fighters, both holding their hands up peacefully, trying to calm them.

"Hang on a second," Sam said. "Just because it's not something that you've experienced or seen, that's a good thing. That means we've done our job."

"Ghost hunting is a job?" Sarah asked, still disbelieving.

Sam nodded. "And we're good at it."

"Wait..." Chuck looked at his friend. "Just yesterday, I was telling Ellie about our trip to that supposedly haunted house, do you remember?" Off Sam's nod, he continued. "And you didn't want to be there."

"I didn't want us to run into a real ghost. You guys had an EMF, that was it. That might tell you where one is, but it won't defeat one."

Casey scoffed again.

"I'd love to see you come face to face with one," Dean countered. "Love to see what you'd do."

"You were ready?" asked Chuck. "To fight one?"

"Iron can dissipate a ghost. I carried my iron knife that night," explained Sam.

Chuck struggled to think back. "I didn't even realize you had a knife."

Sam shrugged. "That was kind of the point."

"Don't tell me you believe this hokum, Bartowski," said Casey with a laugh.

"I don't know, Casey," Sarah said, her eyes darting back and forth between the brothers. "I don't think they're lying to us."

"Then they're certifiable. Let's take them to an NSA shrink to make sure," continued the Marine.

"NSA, huh?" Dean asked. "What is your friend into, Sammy?"

"We've been honest and forthcoming with you, Chuck," Sam said truthfully.

"I just... I just know things," Chuck said. "That's all... that's all I can say without Casey killing you both."

"Just give me an excuse," Casey grumbled.

"Are you saying, then, that a ghost looked like you, and killed all those people?" Sarah asked.

"Don't encourage the delusion, Walker," muttered Casey.

"It's not just ghosts," said Sam. "That was a shape shifter. It morphed its appearance to look like Dean."

"It picked the more handsome Winchester," Dean told Sarah with a charming smile.

Sarah couldn't believe she was asking, but she had to: "You're saying that monsters are real...?"

"Very," Sam and Dean answered in stereo.

"There's a simple way to solve this problem," Casey said. "Prove it."

Dean sighed. "You broke the equipment we just bought."

"Buy it again," Casey said with a shrug.

"Casey, I'm sure we can work something out... can't we? Big guy?" Chuck asked.

Casey grumbled. "We'll take the mouthy one. Walker, you can take this one?" He nodded at Dean.

Dean slipped his gun into the back of his jeans again, holding his hands up. "I'm sure Sarah and I will have a fine time getting acquainted while you guys restock."

Chuck whispered to Sam: "Is it a good idea to leave Sarah with your brother?"

"That depends... Is she really your girlfriend, or really your bodyguard?" Sam countered.

Chuck sighed. "We'll be back in a few minutes..."

* * *

With time running ever closer to being out, Ellie spent every free moment she had at the donated space in the warehouse, working on tweaking the haunted house, whether she was with a whole team of volunteers or if she was by herself. She'd decided it was ultimately silly, that she'd been so freaked out the last time she'd been there. After all, with everyone moving—and Chuck's power drill—she had managed to convince herself that the latch could've easily worked itself loose on its own.

Besides, houses weren't really haunted. This was all in fun.

Gory fun, but fun nonetheless, she convinced herself as she sat, placing rubber snakes all across the floor of one room.

She wanted to have a dry run by Wednesday, so they could make any necessary changes before their opening on Friday. Her boyfriend, Devin Woodcomb, would be the final judge of what was "awesome" and what wasn't quite up to par. He delighted in the extreme, and the haunted house in full swing would be no different.

Part of her wished she could be more like him, and thrive on the adrenaline. Part of her wondered if he had some sort of overactive endocrine system, something that might need to be looked at further down the road if he wasn't careful.

With one box of snakes empty, she reached for the second one, which she had intentionally placed close to her. When it wasn't where she left it, she felt fear grip her heart for just a moment.

"Be rational, Ellie," she chided herself. "You're surrounded by the creepy. Don't let the creepy invade you." As she got to her feet, she realized it felt good to move. "Besides, you should stretch... and you should stop talking to yourself." Sighing, she linked her fingers, stretching her arms high over her head for a moment.

Moving to pick up the box that had somehow moved halfway across the room, she felt the room suddenly grow colder, cold enough that she wished she had a sweatshirt or jacket. Rubbing absently at her arm, she bent to collect the box before turning back to where she'd been working.

A woman stood before her whose hair was unkempt and clothes were dated; her head was tilted at a strange angle.

Ellie dropped the box, fighting against the urge to scream. "I'm sorry, we're not open yet. You'll have to come back this weekend."

"You should leave. Now."

"I'm supposed to be here," Ellie told her. "You aren't. Please, I don't want to call the authorities. Just go, come back on Friday. Ask to see me, Ellie, and I'll make sure you get a ticket, make sure you get to go through on opening day."

"You should go," she repeated, her tone far more shrill. "Now."

Ellie reached in her pocket for her phone. "I really don't want to do this," she said. After looking down to find Devon in her caller ID, she looked back up, only to find that the woman was gone. Again, she felt she was struggling against her fear. "Talking to yourself is the first sign of insanity... followed by seeing things that aren't there." She shook her head. "I'm losing it."

Taking a moment to settle her nerves, she went back to setting up the haunted house, placing even more snakes, to ensure that the entire floor was covered in a knot of reptiles, to give the illusion that they might be a slithering menace. She'd only been sitting down another five minutes when the power suddenly went off, and again the room felt cold.

Suddenly she regretted not ensuring that the woman had seen herself out. For all Ellie knew, she could've been the one to have thrown the breaker. Again pulling her phone from her pocket, she used the tiny amount of light from the screen to attempt to make her way out of the maze. The reptile room was near the end, but the breaker box was closest to the entrance. So, she made her way past the spider's nest, the werewolf den, the cemetery and the boiler room. As she was on her way to the jail cell, the window again popped open, the wood hitting the blocker with a solid bang.

Ellie screamed again, deciding that was just her spot to be scared. However, as she started to try to run on, toward the jail cell room, a hand reached out, and icy cold fingers gripped her arm.

The face of the woman she'd seen moments ago contorted into pure terror. "I told you to get out! Get out, get out!"

She didn't need to be told again. Though she thought she would experience some resistance when she pulled her arm free of the woman, she didn't face any. It was as though those icy cold fingers were nothing but a figment of her imagination. She ran toward the exit, not stopping until she was free of the labyrinth, free of the warehouse where they'd constructed the haunted house. She didn't even stop once she reached her car, unlocking the door and sliding behind the wheel.

Ellie peeled rubber as she tore out of the parking lot, heading anywhere but back to the warehouse.

* * *

As they walked back toward the Buy More, Chuck and Sam stooped to pick up the boxes that Dean and Casey had crushed. "You realize this all sounds kind of farfetched, don't you?" Chuck asked.

"You realize this is why I didn't say much to you about my family back then. You wouldn't have believed me any more then than you do now."

Casey grunted, annoyed.

"You asked for proof. We're working on that," Sam responded. "A little patience while we work on that would be nice."

"So you can rig up some smoke and mirrors? So your brother can convince Walker that Casper is real?" Casey shook his head. "Your days are numbered."

Sam wished that, if just for one day, he could forget about that fact, especially for his big brother.

"You hunt ghosts..." Chuck repeated it just to himself, so that he could try to analyze it, to figure it out. It didn't make any sense, but then again, he never would've thought that a brain could hold the entire cadre of the government's secrets.

"Ghosts, demons, shape shifters, wendigos, black dogs..." Before Casey could react, Sam added: "I know it sounds outrageous."

"Heh."

"I believe you, Sam. I just had no idea your whole family did this..."

Sam glanced at the parking lot, and pointed. "Do you remember that car?"

Chuck's eyes landed on the sleek Impala. "That... that was the car when we went ghost hunting, the guy that owned the house."

"No, the guy that was investigating it. Professionally. The guy that came in, that gave me the salt, that was my brother."

Chuck stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk. "What?"

"He kept my secret. But he wanted me—us—safe."

"And salt's protection?"

"It's pure. Ghosts are anything but. It's opposite; so it makes sense that you would need one to repel or destroy the other. Same goes for iron, for silver."

"Malarkey," muttered Casey, leading the way back into the Buy More. As he walked inside, he was almost bowled over by a blur of a figure, with long dark hair, and brightly colored clothes. He stopped the person, however, planting his feet, and catching them practically.

The person in his arms tried to wriggle free, nearly even screamed, but as soon as she stilled, she was relieved. "John!"

"Ellie?"

"Sis?" asked Chuck.

Ellie glanced past Casey to spot her brother. "Chuck!" But, then she recognized the man beside her brother. "Sam?"

Sam raised a hand slightly to wave.

"What are you doing... no, it doesn't matter. It's very nice to see you again, but I... Guys, I think I'm losing it. I'm going around the bend..."

"What's wrong, El?" Chuck asked, genuinely worried.

"I was working at the warehouse, right? Because we open this weekend, and there are miles to go before we sleep... but there was..." She sighed. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say there was a ghost haunting our fake haunted house. A real ghost."

"Ellie," began Casey, but she shook her head.

"I know what you must be thinking. But I... I talked to it. It talked to me. It tried to warn me. And when I didn't listen, it scared me away, and, really, the more I think about it, the more I feel like I should be in a Scooby-Doo cartoon, and it'll all be fine because it's just the little old innkeeper under a rubber mask, but she... she held my arm, John," she said, pushing her sleeve up, to show the marking on her arm.

Chuck looked quickly to Sam.

"We need to get our equipment, and we need to go out there. Daytime isn't exactly spook central," explained Sam.

"What?" Ellie asked, completely confused.

"Don't worry. We'll go over there and we'll check it out. Why don't you go home, and we'll call you when it's clear," Casey said.

"I really... Devon's in surgery all day and I don't want to be alone," she admitted. She stopped when she realized: "John, you're bleeding!"

"Just a scratch," he promised her.

Chuck sighed. "Why don't you get Casey patched up, while Sam and I get replacements... and we'll all head over to the Wienerlicious for some brats and kraut?"

Sam could tell they weren't telling Ellie everything, that she was in the dark with whatever it was that Chuck was doing. The lies were spread between them like spider webs, and they were all caught.

* * *

Stay tuned...

"Interesting choice of vehicle," Casey returned. Truth be told, he was glad to sit in the back—he could watch what both the Winchesters did. "That trunk looks big enough to hold a body."

"Probably two, even if one of them was yours," Dean returned.

"Remember how I said 'lie low'?" Sam asked under his breath.

"I don't remember saying I agreed..." Dean unlocked the car, stopping by the trunk.


	3. Chapter 3

For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.

The road so far—here are couple things you might need to know, or maybe you just forgot: Chuck, Sarah, and Casey are in a standoff with Dean and Sam, and Sam caves, telling them what they do for a living. Casey and Sarah want proof, which Sam agrees to provide, once they get their gear fixed. Meanwhile, Ellie's working at the haunted house by herself and has a close encounter of the scary variety, and meets up with her family and friends, even if they don't believe her when she says she's seen a ghost.

* * *

In the time she was alone with Dean Winchester, she learned that he was confident and full of himself. More than that, he knew he was ruggedly attractive. Even Sarah had to agree that he was nice to look at. But, he didn't ask much about what she did, and she didn't delve deeper into his hunting, either.

Dean stood when the door opened, and Sam and Chuck entered with equipment, followed by Casey and yet another new person. "What's this? Bring your girlfriend to work day?"

Casey narrowed his eyes. "Can it, Winchester."

"Winchester?" Ellie asked. "You're related to Sam?"

"Ellie, this is my brother, Dean. Dean, this is Chuck's sister, Ellie."

While Dean grinned and moved forward to greet her properly, Chuck felt the need to correct his earlier assumption. "Ellie's boyfriend is Captain Awesome. He's awesome. And a doctor. And not here."

"Surely you outrank a lowly captain," Dean said, glancing at Casey. "Maybe there's hope for you yet, Lurch."

Casey grunted, then realized he'd just confirmed Dean's new nickname for him.

"He's not really a captain," Sarah explained.

Hoping not to get drawn too far into the interpersonal relationships, Sam tried to shift gears. "Ellie, why don't you tell my brother about what you saw?"

"I'm sure it's nothing..."

"El," Chuck encouraged softly.

"You'll think I'm crazy..."

Dean's voice, to the others, was surprisingly open when he told her: "Try me."

Ellie took a stuttering breath before explaining everything, from the box moving, to the appearance of the woman, her sudden disappearance, and her reappearance. When she rolled her sleeve up, showing the angry-looking hand print, Dean was sold.

"And you're friends with the guy that owns this warehouse?" Off Ellie's nod, Dean continued: "We're gonna need to talk to that guy."

"What about the equipment first?" asked Sam.

Dean glanced at Chuck and the others, slowly relenting. "We need some research on that property. Think you can do that?"

"Me?" asked Chuck.

"It's not hard, Chuck," said Sam. "An internet search, see if there were any incidents there, if anyone died there... Public records check..."

"You're telling me I've seen a ghost?" Ellie asked, looking at Dean.

The older Winchester shrugged. "I'm saying it's possible, sweetheart. If there have been any incidents, we need to know everything about who was involved—who died, who didn't. Where they lived, where they're buried, who they're related to."

"Where they're buried?" asked Sarah.

Dean fought back a sigh. "This is gonna go faster if you don't ask questions. You want us to prove we are who we say we are, help us out."

"Let's just go to the warehouse, make sure that it's clear," Casey said, knowing all of what Dean and Sam were getting at had to be hooey.

"Did you see that mark on her arm?" Sam asked. "That was done by a powerful spirit. You go waltzing in there unprepared, you could be hurt or killed. And I'm sure we don't want that."

"Walker?" Casey asked, looking for her to back him up.

"We should have all the information first," Sarah said, trying to choose her words as carefully as she could, glad that Ellie was distracted by the bruising on her arm. "Don't you think?"

Casey was fairly certain that all of this—from trusting the Winchesters, to allowing Ellie to hang out with them—was dangerous. Especially if General Beckman called in and wanted them on the next flight out somewhere to take care of something. It wasn't as though having casual interactions with strangers was the best thing in the world for the government's most protected secret, particularly when the Intersect had already spilled at least the initial few beans. "Seems I'm outvoted."

"Let's move this out of the Wienerlicious at least," Sarah said.

"We can research from my house, and you guys can tinker with what you need to do from there..." Chuck said hopefully.

"Fewer prying eyes," Casey said, glancing out the window. Plus, he could run to his apartment and check in with his superior as well as see if that goo that he'd found the day before had been identified yet. "Let's move."

* * *

In three hours, Dean had the EMF meter working, and he and Sam had most of the infrared scanner back in order. Chuck had found several incidents that had happened at that warehouse as well as the warehouses surrounding it. Some movies had been filmed around there, and had some incidents where stuntmen were hurt, some seriously. For the past eight years, however, it had been empty.

The old safety records had been lost to the internet age, and nothing had hit the papers. A quick call to public records showed that the warehouse had been built in the forties initially, for a local clothing company. Pieces were completed, moved to the warehouse for shipping by cargo ship overseas, or by train all across the country. A decade ago or so, the work had been outsourced, leaving an empty shell of a building, another mark of the crumbling economy.

Which meant they needed someone who had been there, someone who had known the old stories. "Ellie, think you could call your buddy, this Cooper Benson guy who owns the building, and set up a meeting for us?" Dean gestured back and forth between himself and Sam.

She looked up from the kitchen counter, where she'd been slicing carrots and potatoes to start a pot roast—it seemed that she was going to have company for dinner. "I don't see why not," she said, drying her hands on the towel over her shoulder.

Dean winked at her, and Ellie turned quickly to reach for the phone.

"Dude, she's got a boyfriend," Sam said quietly.

"Captain Awesome? Sounds like a cartoon character."

"How about we lay low, gank this ghost, and then we get the hell out of this town with new friends to protect us?" asked Sam.

"Fine, fine," grumbled Dean.

The front door opened and they both turned to see Casey enter, going straight for Chuck and Sarah. The quiet conversation that ensued wasn't meant for their ears, not that they didn't try to strain to listen in.

Sam didn't catch much—something about Beckman and biological material, which didn't sound appetizing or appealing. Dean didn't do much better, picking out that whoever this mysterious Beckman was, he, she, or it didn't know what was going on, and they were all three going to do their best to keep it that way.

Dean hoped they could use that, if they needed to, in order to facilitate their escape. While he didn't want to spend his waning days locked up in some penitentiary, he knew Sam's stay would be far longer. While Sam seemed willing to trust that a successful hunt would ensure their freedom, Dean had his reservations.

Casey would be their biggest stumbling block, and not just because he was physically taller than Dean. If the Marine was anything like their father, Casey would be tunnel-visioned, and once he had his mind set on something, he would see it through. And Dean was fairly certain Casey was bound and determined to see them brought to justice.

Ellie soon hung up and walked toward the brothers, a piece of paper in hand. "Cooper can meet you in an hour. His office; it'll probably take you about thirty minutes to get there from here."

"Thanks, Ellie," Sam said, accepting the piece of paper.

Dean moved to the dining room table, which had become their work station. "We'll get this packed up, head out... after the meeting, we'll check out the warehouse."

"You're going alone?" Casey asked.

"Wouldn't dream of it. Sarah, you wanna come with us?"

Ellie realized that Dean flirted with anything female that breathed, especially considering both she and Sarah had boyfriends.

"While I appreciate the offer, Dean, I think that I'll ride with Casey and Chuck."

"What do you say, Ellie?" Dean asked, turning to glance back at her.

"I'm not staying here, that's for sure. Just give me a minute to start the crock pot."

Chuck motioned the Winchesters toward them in the living room. While Sam moved quickly, Dean took a moment to gather the gear carefully into his duffel bag, securing it on his shoulder before he joined them. "Ellie doesn't know. About... stuff..."

"About your... flash... thing?" Sam asked.

Chuck winced, especially hearing the growl from Casey. "Yeah, so if you could just be careful about what you say around my sister, I'd appreciate it."

"Lying to your family? Not a good idea," Dean said simply.

"Yes, well, I'm trying to protect her, and the best way that I have is to keep her in the dark, where she thinks we're all just underachievers," Chuck said, gesturing toward himself, Sarah, and Casey. "And she needs to continue to think that."

"Family's the best protection you have," Dean returned.

"It's not for everybody, Dean," Sam said, hoping not to cause an argument. "We'll keep it quiet."

Chuck glanced at Casey. "How 'bout I ride with Sam and Dean, and Ellie rides with you and Sarah? I'd feel better about that, I think."

"How about you and Ellie ride with Walker... and I'll tag along with our new... _friends_," Casey said, drawing out the last word ominously.

Dean shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Casey shouldered his backpack. "Walker?"

"We'll see you at the warehouse," Sarah said with a nod.

Casey grunted his affirmation, before walking out into the chilly autumn air with the Winchesters.

"Sorry, but Sammy gets carsick, so he gets shotgun," Dean commented, walking toward his waiting Impala.

"Interesting choice of vehicle," Casey returned. Truth be told, he was glad to sit in the back—he could watch what both the Winchesters did. "That trunk looks big enough to hold a body."

"Probably two, even if one of them was yours," Dean returned.

"Remember how I said 'lay low'?" Sam asked under his breath.

"I don't remember saying I agreed..." Dean unlocked the car, stopping by the trunk.

Casey was careful to peer in, but it looked rather empty. "Maybe the trunk isn't as big as I thought... Planning on hacking bodies to make them fit?"

"Shh, don't you listen to Lurch, baby. Your trunk is just fine the way it is."

Sam realized it was going to be a long afternoon.

* * *

The office of Cooper Benson was pretty impressive. Plush chairs in the waiting room, thick, rich carpeting, impeccable wallpaper, even poster-sized pictures of the Burbank area, including properties available for sale and those that had just sold and, best of all, decadent little chocolates in a candy dish.

A ten minute wait meant that Dean had nearly polished them all off.

Cooper was a short man, balding and round, with a warm, engaging smile and a tailored, pinstripe suit. "Ellie said you wanted to stop by, that you had some questions?"

"We're reporters," Dean said, giving Casey a moment's opportunity to correct him. When the Marine didn't, Dean continued. "Seems there've been some unusual happenings at the warehouse as the hospital has been getting ready for their event. We wanted to see if there's a history of... unusual happenings."

Cooper smiled, shaking his head. "I'm not sure what you're talking about, son. On most days, it sits empty. While I've tried many times to offload that particular property, it just doesn't sell. It's not that it isn't a well-built building, or in a choice location, it's just that there are nicer, better warehouses, places that are a little younger, a little larger... I can't really blame people for not wanting to purchase it."

"Maybe there aren't unusual happenings created by people, but there might be reports of something else? Maybe odd noises when you were showing it? Sensations of sudden coldness, peculiar scents?" probed Sam.

"Well, the coolness, yes. But seems to me it's just the size of the building, the proximity to the chilly Pacific breezes. It may be California, it may be hot here, but it can also be downright cold," said Cooper with a shrug.

"Seems to me, Mr. Benson, that clothes wouldn't need to be all that cool. Are you sure that's the only thing that was ever stored there?" asked Dean.

"What the previous owners did with the building is their business, son," Cooper said with a shrug.

"Any interesting people try to buy it from you?" Sam asked.

"Not lately. At this point, I'm trying to sell it to the city, maybe they can turn it into something—a parking lot, a recreational park. It's not something I'm particularly interested in developing, just offloading, you understand."

Casey frowned. "Offload to the city? It's that much of a burden on your books?"

Both Dean and Sam turned to glance at the Marine, who narrowed his eyes at them briefly, as though to indicate they should be paying attention.

Cooper leaned back in his chair. "I wouldn't call it a burden. Just something I'm ready to be rid of. While donating it for three weeks to Westside is a nice little tax break, it's hardly enough to put a dent into offsetting the costs. It doesn't do anyone any good sitting in my files. Think of all the good it could do, especially if the city were to turn it into something nice for families, for the residents."

Sam pondered for a moment, a proverbial light bulb eventually turning on over his head. "I'm sorry, Mr. Benson, you spoke about the previous owners... Seems the records we've seen indicate that the building was only ever owned by one company, the clothing manufacturer. Were there other owners?"

For the first time, the real estate agent seemed genuinely at a loss for words, as he struggled to speak, stumbling over his tongue. "Well, of course, there is the contractor who built the building. He might've owned it first..."

"Might?" Casey pressed.

"I'm certain I have some records here somewhere about the contractor..." Cooper turned from them, rifling through a filing cabinet. "About who developed the property initially... Of course, this would've been a very long time ago..."

"I dunno, Mr. Benson, it seems like there might've been some shady dealings going on with this property? Maybe a while ago, certainly not anytime recently..." Sam said innocently.

"Records get better as time goes on... papers get lost, identifying information might've been misplaced. Back when things were hand-written or typed on typewriters, in the days before spell-check, there might've been any number of errors..."

"What are you sending people into?" Dean asked.

Cooper was so flustered he nearly dropped the file. "Whatever do you mean, my boy?"

"Your face is flushed, you're sweating, and your hands are shaking like crazy. That spells 'guilty' to me, doesn't it to you, Casey?" Off the older man's grunt, Dean continued, having left his patient reporter persona behind to move forward with his hard-ass hunter. "What are you knowingly sending your friend Ellie into, by having her work in that warehouse? That place'll be crawling with kids, families this weekend. You really wanna be the one responsible if something happens while they're there?"

"W-well, that's why the hos-hospital takes out insurance-" Cooper stuttered.

Sam jumped back into the conversation, demanding: "What do you know? What aren't you telling us?"

"Off the record?" Cooper asked hopefully.

Casey's eyebrow slowly drifted up his forehead.

"Of course," Dean said soothingly.

"Occasionally there are spurts of coldness in the building, even on the hottest day of the year. And there are sounds... moans, groans, things that happen when no one else is there. Things I've experienced," Cooper admitted.

"What happened there?" asked Casey.

"What _bad_ _thing_ happened there?" Dean amended.

Cooper inhaled shallowly, spreading the file on the desk between them. "The warehouse was being built for a man of, shall we say, ill repute..."

"The clothing manufacturer?" asked Sam.

"No, before. There was an owner before, a gentleman who made his money by illegitimate means. He needed a place to store his ill-gotten gains, until the heat died down, so he could then fence them and turn a profit. His name was Phillip Horton. Seems he had a daughter, Betty, who didn't approve of what he did. The story goes that they had an argument, that she was going to go to the police, to turn him in...Supposedly he killed her. In a fit of rage, he killed her and then, in his guilt, immediately shot himself."

While Casey was impressed with the turning of the tide, how Dean and Sam were able to interrogate Cooper so thoroughly, he still didn't believe that some ghost of a crime boss's daughter had interacted with Ellie.

"But, if Westside 'borrows' this warehouse every year, why are they just now having difficulty with the restless spirits?" Sam asked.

"Restless spirits?" Cooper repeated, shaking his head. "My dear boy, I have no idea what you're talking about..."

"How often has Westside 'rented' from you like this?" Dean asked.

"Well, probably four years now. The past three years was a different venue, but they have so many visitors to their event, they've asked for a larger facility... The warehouse this year, the hospital's never used before."

Sam nodded slowly.

"Anything else I can answer for you?" Cooper desperately hoped their meeting was over.

Sam had one last question: "Where are Betty and Phillip buried?"

"That's a question for the ages, my boy. There's no record of any burial plot in the city or county for either of them."

Dean sighed. "What about items that might've belonged to them in some history museum?"

"The Hortons are a page of Burbank history the city, nay the world, would like to forget. He wasn't the nicest man; she wasn't even the most virtuous woman in the world, but their story, like so many, is a tragedy.

"Well... thank you for your time," Sam said.

As the three moved for the door, Cooper piped up quietly: "All of that is off the record, yes?"

Dean merely smiled at the real estate agent.

* * *

Casey was silent for the first five minutes of the car ride toward the warehouse, but he had to ask: "Why did you want to know where they were buried?"

"In the hopes that this would be quick, easy, and painless. This trip has been anything _but_," Dean said with a sigh.

Sam turned in his seat slightly, to look back at the Marine. "Spirits attach to their bodies, to items of great importance to them. Severing the attachment is the easiest way to get rid of the ghost."

Casey grunted, still trying to process.

"Ellie said that the spirit was trying to warn her to get out... makes me think we haven't even seen Papa Ghost yet, and that he's still all kinds of angry and guilty."

Casey let the facts settle in his head, from the cold spots, the goo he'd found, and Ellie's hand-shaped bruise. As much as he didn't want to, and wasn't ready to believe, he had to ask. "What does... what evidence does a ghost leave behind?"

Even Dean chanced a glance in the rear view mirror back at him. Before Sam could start on the educational spiel, Dean asked: "Why? What did you find?"

"Yesterday, Ellie had an incident in the maze, a prop moved without anyone being there to control it—it had been locked into place. A viscous material was near the prop, not on the prop itself. Preliminary test results have come back negative for anything definitive, only that it's some kind of biological material."

"Congratulations, Egon. Your mucus? Yeah... that's ectoplasm," Dean said, liking this hunt more and more.

Casey sneered. "Ecto-what?"

"Long story short?" Sam sighed. "We're dealing with really powerful, unhappy spirits. And Chuck, Ellie, and Sarah are already at the warehouse, waiting for us. And because of that, they're sitting ducks."

* * *

Stay tuned...

Lines from the next installment:

Dean quickly climbed out and moved to the trunk. Slinging the duffel over his shoulder, he lifted the false bottom.

Casey and Sam joined Dean, and the Marine's eyes grew large at the cache of weapons that were stashed there. "Tools of your trade?" Casey asked, eying some of the pieces appreciatively.

"Gotta be prepared. Something Marine training drills into you, right?"

Casey nodded, accepting a small box of ammo from Dean.


	4. Chapter 4

For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.

Here are a couple things you might need to know, or maybe you just forgot—the road so far: Dean and Sam recruit Chuck to being an honorary hunter, giving him the research duties while they piece together their equipment. Ellie arranges for them to meet with the owner of the building, who reluctantly tells a spine-chilling tale of death in the warehouse, which could explain the haunting. Casey confesses that he found goo—which Dean identifies as ectoplasm—and Sam comes to the startling revelation that Ellie, Sarah, and Chuck are at the warehouse without protection while they wait on the others to join them.

* * *

Ellie lingered in the parking lot, looking up at the building. It looked just as it had every day for the past two weeks since they'd been building the haunted house, but it seemed more ominous now. She felt uneasy just being near it. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate Chuck and Sarah being there with her, assuring her that she was okay; she couldn't help but feel like there was something _off_, particularly in her own brain. While she kept the purple bruise on her arm covered, she could almost pretend that it didn't happen, that she hadn't been accosted by some potentially dead someone.

She started to wonder if mental illness ran in the family, because being crazy might've accounted for Steven Bartowski's abandoning of his children.

While Chuck wasn't quite sure what to do with the weapons Sam spoke about, he had a salt shaker in his right hand, and the EMF meter from college in his left. While he hadn't been sure he kept it, or that it would still work, he was quite surprised to find it tucked away in a box, shoved in the back of his closet.

Sarah had no idea why she was holding an iron, particularly when she took her clothes to the cleaner to be pressed, but Chuck had been insistent.

Ellie rubbed at her arm, over her bruise. "Maybe we should go."

"They said they'd be here," Sarah said, suddenly worried for her partner's safety.

"We could wait in the car... and be ready to go in case they don't show up," Ellie said, still obviously wary and on-edge.

"The EMF meter will tell us if a ghost is near, though," Chuck said. "So, we can wait here and be safe." Except, when the indicator lights moved from green to orange, he nearly dropped it.

Ellie shrieked briefly, taking a step back.

"I, uh... I forgot it did that," Chuck said sheepishly. "Cell phones affect EMF meters..." Juggling the items in his hands, he pulled his cell phone out, answering it. "Hello?"

"Chuck, it's Sam. Where are you guys?"

"We're at the warehouse; where are you?"

"We're-... ...-but I need for you to-..."

Chuck didn't want to alarm the others, but he didn't like the fact that the reception was cutting in and out. "What was that, Sam?"

"Chuck, can you-..."

"The signal isn't working right, I don't think. Are you over by Griffith Park, because there's no signal over there, like, at all..." Chuck waited for another response, even if it was a fraction of a word, but nothing came.

Sarah looked at Chuck as he slowly lowered his phone.

"That was Sam. He wants us to do something. Not at all sure what that is."

"Could it have been leaving? Because I think leaving might be the best idea," Ellie said with a nod.

* * *

"Either I'm in a dead zone, or the ghosts are messing with the signal on Chuck's end," Sam said, tossing his phone, disgusted, into the seat between him and Dean.

With a sigh, Dean drove a little faster. "Hope you know a way to get us out of tickets," he said, glancing in the mirror at Casey.

Casey knew his get-out-of-a-traffic-stop ticket was in his wallet. His NSA ID could get them on the road again in no time. "This as fast as this antique can go?"

"Hold on," Dean said, pressing his baby to go farther, harder. While Dean focused on the road ahead, he told them: "If it is on our end, keep calling. Maybe we'll find a good signal."

Sam tried calling Chuck; and Casey tried calling Sarah, both to no avail. While they were still a good twenty minutes away, Sam tried to think of everything that he'd told Chuck, if there was anything that might've stuck in the computer geek's mind to help until they got there. While he remembered mentioning salt, he didn't say that they should draw a circle of salt on the ground and stand within it. He remembered mentioning that iron and silver could dissipate ghosts, but he didn't say that they needed to be touched with those things.

He could only hope that Chuck might be able to intuitively use the knowledge he'd passed along, at least until the cavalry arrived.

As they neared the warehouse, Sam glanced back at Casey. "What's your rank?"

"Colonel John Casey, USMC."

"Colonel, what are you packing?" Sam continued.

"SIG-Sauer P229, nine mil."

"We've got some iron rounds we can spare, don't we?" Sam asked, glancing at Dean.

"When we get stopped, we'll get you loaded up right. Standard, government-issue ammo's not going to do much good at all against a ghost."

"Not sure 'guns blazing' is a good idea in front of Ellie," Casey said hesitantly. The Intersect's sister was a particular sticking point for the computer in tennis shoes, and while Casey was frequently annoyed at the cover life he had to endure, protecting his nation's secrets was his life's work.

"You don't come home with a ring like that and not know how to shoot," Dean responded.

"You said your dad was a Marine." Casey wasn't much for small talk, but he was curious.

"Echo 2/1," Dean answered without hesitation. "Vietnam."

"A hero," Casey responded.

Dean nodded. "A warrior."

Sam wondered if they had reached some kind of truce. For all their sakes, he hoped so.

* * *

By the time the Impala rumbled to a stop outside the warehouse, Chuck, Sarah, and Ellie were still standing in the parking lot, trying to figure out what to do.

Chuck had never been more relieved to see Casey and Sam in his life.

Dean quickly climbed out and moved to the trunk. Slinging the duffel over his shoulder, he lifted the false bottom.

Casey and Sam joined Dean, and the Marine's eyes grew large at the cache of weapons that were stashed there. "Tools of your trade?" Casey asked, eying some of the pieces appreciatively.

"Gotta be prepared. Something Marine training drills into you, right?"

Casey nodded, accepting a small box of ammo from Dean.

Meanwhile, Sam hefted two shotguns, one for himself, one for Dean.

"What is... an iron? Really?" Dean asked, spotting the laundry implement in Sarah's hands.

Chuck wasn't sure what the problem was. "That's what Sam said..."

"Iron as in the metal," Sam corrected gently, picking up a crowbar and offering it in trade to Sarah.

Chuck cleared his throat. "We've thoroughly checked the three square feet of area we were standing in with my EMF meter... all clear up there."

Dean handed out flashlights to everyone before closing the cache and setting the duffel on top. He removed the infrared—considering Ellie had seen the ghost previously, they could work without that one. But, the EMF meter, the salt, lighter fluid, and the Zippo lighter that were inside would stay.

"Last words of wisdom before we..." Chuck swallowed hard. "Go inside?"

"Everybody stay close. Do what we tell you to do," Dean said simply.

Sam led the way, his flashlight up, while Dean followed directly behind him. Chuck and Ellie were the middle of the group, while Sarah and Casey brought up the rear.

Ellie swallowed hard before saying: "The lights are on... when I left, they were off, like someone had thrown the breaker..."

"Probably just Phillip," Sam said. "Ghosts make lights flicker."

"That wasn't a flicker. That was pitch black darkness," Ellie said, holding her flashlight with a death grip. "And, unless Philip wore a dress and had long hair, I'd say it was someone else."

"You met Betty, his daughter," Dean said, digging out his EMF from his bag. The whirring sound was oddly comforting to Sam and Dean, but it grated on Ellie's already frazzled nerves, sounding so foreign.

Chuck, curious, held his EMF up next to Dean's, and there was a vast difference. Chuck's looked much like a brick with an on/off switch, while Dean's was thin, sleek, with two ways to measure the EMF information—both by the lights and by a needled meter for a more precise measurement. "And you made that from things at the Buy More? Huh."

"Ellie, where were you when you saw Betty?" Sam asked.

"Inside the haunted house, the snake room. When she touched me, though, she was at that same window from yesterday, the one that opened on its own." Ellie glanced back at Casey.

"That's where I found the…" Casey couldn't finish it. He couldn't possibly say he found ectoplasm without sounding like he should be in some children's cartoon or some 80s horror-comedy.

"Oh," Sarah said, "that goo?"

Ellie froze. "There was goo? What kind of goo?"

"Yes," Casey said quickly. "Goo."

"Where is that exactly?" Dean asked, fighting the urge to roll his eyes.

Casey answered, putting a hand lightly on Ellie's arm so that she'd keep up with the rest of the group. "Just past the jail cell room."

As they wandered into the maze, Dean was occasionally distracted by the vignettes that the hospital volunteers had created. They weren't bad for amateurs—he'd seen a lot of scary things in his day, both in his job and on TV. He considered himself a connoisseur of the creepy, and he liked what he saw. "You guys got a clown room?"

Sam sighed.

Dean chuckled, looking again at the EMF meter. There were minor readings, but as they entered the jail cell room, it began to spike higher. Even Chuck's went from green to yellow.

"Uh…" Chuck poked Dean in the shoulder. "Are you seeing this?"

"Relax," Dean said confidently. He put his EMF into the pocket of his jacket, lifting his shotgun.

The words didn't match the actions, and Chuck felt himself on edge more than anything. He felt icy cold fingers latch onto his arm, and he screamed, only to discover that his _sister_ had grabbed onto him. "I, uh… Yeah… Sorry," he said, clearing his throat uncomfortably.

"Deep breath, Bartowski," Casey muttered. "Both of you."

As they started into the corridor just past Chuck's jail cell room, the EMF meters maxed out.

Ellie held her breath, bracing for what she felt had to happen. Chuck started losing feeling in his arm from her vise-like grip.

Casey and Sarah couldn't believe their eyes as a woman's form suddenly appeared and seemed to flicker.

"Are you seeing this?" Sarah asked quietly.

Casey's affirmative grunt wasn't as confident as usual.

"Leave," said the ghost. "Now."

"Where's your old man?" Dean asked. "Kinda wanna see him."

She flickered again, and in the next moment, she was right in front of Dean. "No, you don't. He's crazy."

Casey and Sarah both took reflexive steps backward, too shocked to voice their concerns that the woman had seemed to move without walking.

"You want to be at rest, don't you?" Sam asked. "That's why you warned our friend?" He nodded back to Ellie.

The spirit looked squarely at Ellie, her face contorting. "I told you to _leave_!"

Ellie, lightheaded from holding her breath, gasped, dragging Chuck back into Sarah and Casey. She would've yelped if not for seeing Casey confidently move in front of her and Chuck, placing himself in the path of the ghost.

"Hey!" Dean said forcefully to Betty. "Focus. Where's pops?"

The ghost's flickering pattern increased. She whispered hauntingly: "He's coming," before she vanished.

Chuck found his voice first. "Was that… was that how they dissipate? You made her dissipate, Sam?"

"No, that was on her own," Sam said, his eyes expertly watching, his senses on high-alert for the next shift, for when the restless, crazy spirit of Phillip Horton might arrive.

The lights began to flicker, the motors in the next room, the boiler room, kicked up and on, whirring faster than normal.

"Be ready," Dean said.

Though Sarah couldn't be sure what that meant exactly, she gripped the crowbar tighter, hefting it like a baseball bat.

Casey glanced back toward the jail cell room, his gun tracing his line of vision.

"Ellie, when you built this, did you come across anything strange, any bones, any antiques?"

"Well, th-there was… the floor was uneven. Devon tried to pull it up, to level it," Ellie said, her voice shaking as badly as she was.

"Where was that?" Dean asked.

Ellie had to pause, to try to make her brain think. "It's, uh… Oh, God. Right about here."

"That explains why you found the ectoplasm here, why Ellie keeps having encounters here," Sam said calmly.

"When he pulled up the floor, he found a flask, an old revolver, and a necklace," Casey provided.

"Where are they now?" Dean asked, turning to look at the Marine.

Casey nodded toward the back of the warehouse. "There's what's left of an office, a desk. He put the things there until Benson could come claim them."

"We need to get there," Dean said. "Now."

"Well, except…" Ellie's trembling hand flew to her neck. "Cooper said I could keep the necklace."

Without hesitation, Dean turned toward her, lowering his shotgun. "Sorry, sweetheart." His fingers clasped the gold filigree pendant, and he snapped the chain from her neck.

"That's why Betty came to you, tried to scare you away," Sam explained as Casey started leading them back out of the maze.

"What?" Ellie asked.

Sam continued, though he occasionally glanced back, to make sure the ghosts weren't coming up behind them. "It was her necklace. It's what's keeping her here on this plane, and we need it to send her home."

Casey stopped at the entrance, when he saw what he could only assume was another ghost.

But, that one didn't look old enough to be Betty's father. He stood oddly, his left foot jutted out at an angle that just wasn't natural. He flickered, his dead eyes landing on Casey.

"Winchester?"

Dean opened fire, and the shotgun blast of salt made the spirit disappear. "Where's that office?"

Casey started walking toward the office, with Dean beside him.

"Was that her father?" Sarah asked.

"I don't think so," Casey answered. He looked at Dean. "I don't think Benson had the full story."

Sam shrugged. "The story's had sixty years to get corrupted. We may never know what happened."

"Did Dean just kill it?" Ellie asked, sounding momentarily relieved.

Sam shook his head, and he watched as the fear crept back into Ellie's eyes.

Dean hoped that, because there were three items that were found, it would take care of the three ghosts.

Casey stopped walking when he saw yet another figure further up ahead, this time standing at the door to the office. "Uh…"

"Dammit," Dean muttered. Shorter, rounder, in a much nicer cut of a suit, the figure at the door had to be the crime boss. Worse than that, part of his head seemed to be missing.

A tremendous gust of wind, icy and penetrating, shoved them all backward. Ellie found herself on the ground, with Chuck beside her, scrambling to get back to his feet. Sam caught Sarah, keeping her upright. While Dean and Casey slid ten feet back, they had braced themselves enough to prevent themselves from falling.

The hair on the back of Casey's neck stood on end, and he liked to think there wasn't anything that scared him. Straightening his arm, he aimed at the figure by the door, firing a shot. Just before the shot should've landed, the ghost flickered, appearing to the left of where he'd aimed.

Before Casey could try to lead the target, he found himself moving. Frigid hands were on his chest as the ghost Dean had shot reappeared in front of him, flinging him against the solid metal wall.

Ellie scrambled back from the ghosts, her eyes wide. It had to be a dream—a really bad one. It was the only logical explanation that made sense.

"Dean!" Sam yelled, catching Ellie before she had an opportunity to get to her feet and take off in a free run away from them. As much as he knew she'd hate it, she needed to stay close to them.

Dean glanced back, realizing that the Marine was against the wall—and Casey's feet were no longer touching the ground. "Hey! Gimpy!"

The younger, thinner ghost, who Dean could only assume was an enforcer for Horton, dropped Casey. He ran with an unusual gait toward Dean, who opened fire.

Casey braced for what he felt would be friendly fire impact from the buckshot, only to realize that the rounds were loaded with something peculiar, something that didn't even rip at his shirt or embed into his skin. "Rock salt?"

"Now's really not the time for—" Before Dean could finish his sentence, he found himself flung against the haunted house's temporary wall, crashing through it and into the butcher shop room, nearly choked in a cloud of plaster dust.

Sam looked at Ellie and Chuck. "Stay with Sarah," he ordered before running to help Dean.

Casey looked again to Horton, who was watching the happenings unfold. He fired three times in rapid succession, in six inch increments, hoping that one would land. Each time, however, he missed, and each time, Horton chuckled louder, more sinisterly.

"I'm fine," Dean grumbled, climbing out of the debris once Sam reached him.

"He's not gonna let us get close," Sam said, looking to Horton.

"Divide and conquer." Dean handed Sam the necklace and the duffel. "Casey and I can keep him busy."

"Dean…" Sam hesitated. When his older brother ignored him, however, getting back into the fray, Sam had no choice but to run back toward the front of the warehouse, stopping briefly by Chuck and Ellie. Sarah was brandishing the crowbar, but it was like the spirits knew that Dean and Casey were the major threats. "Ellie, can I get around the haunted house and get to the back wall?"

She looked at him, blinking. "What?"

"Y-yeah, it doesn't take up the full warehouse floor," Chuck said with a nod. "Why, what?"

Sam dug through the duffel, finding the salt canister. He drew a circle on the floor around them. "So long as you stay inside this, and it remains unbroken, they can't hurt you."

Ellie looked at the thick ring of salt. It added to the absurdity of it all. The logic just failed to track. She laughed—it was all she could do.

Before Chuck could think to ask another question, Sam was off, scurrying around to the front of the haunted house display.

"C'mon, ugly, is that the best you got?" Dean taunted. "Cronies doing the heavy lifting. No wonder everybody's forgotten about you."

Casey watched as Dean began his slow, methodical movement forward, and he fell in step with him. "You're outnumbered. If you were smart, you'd just give up."

Horton sneered. With a wave of his hand, both Casey and Dean went flying into the metal wall of the warehouse.

Dean wasn't sure which was better—the metal, or the plaster one that gave away. Either way, he knew his back was going to hurt like hell in the morning.

While Casey grunted when he hit the wall again, he was soon on his feet and advancing toward Horton again.

They might've gotten off to an auspicious start, but Dean had respect for the Marine.

Sarah wished she could help her partner, but she knew that the Intersect needed protection, especially since the henchman slowly approached, his left foot dragging silently along the floor. Licking her lips, she eased one toe out of the salt circle, careful to step over it.

"Sarah…" Chuck didn't want her to go, to leave the protection Sam had left for them.

"It's okay, Chuck," she said, her voice unwavering.

Ellie closed her eyes. She just couldn't watch any longer. Though, now that she was willingly in the dark, she could hear the hiss of the henchman, the thuds of bodies against walls, the distinctive sound of shots being fired, rounds pinging off the floor, and the guns being reloaded. She could almost taste the metallic air.

Betty's freakish whisper floated into Ellie's ears again. "You should leave. Now."

* * *

Stay tuned…

Lines from the next installment:

Horton was suddenly over Dean, forcing the hunter to his knees. His ghostly fingers were wrapped tightly around Dean's neck. The hunter's shotgun was just out of reach.

Casey glanced back at the Intersect and Ellie, but they were fine—just scared. Dean, however, was in serious trouble, as his face was blue and shading deeper with each passing second.

"Casey?" Sarah asked.

He got to his feet slowly, holding a hand out to steady her, a quiet order to keep her position.


	5. Chapter 5

Happy Halloween. ~K

For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.

The road so far—here are a couple things you might need to know or maybe you just forgot: Sam and Dean lead Casey, Sarah, Ellie and Chuck into the warehouse to confront the ghosts, discovering that items were found and disturbed while preparing for the fundraiser. Though they try to reach the items in the hopes of sending the ghosts packing, they're in for a stronger fight than they assumed.

* * *

Sam advanced as quickly and as quietly as he could around the constructed maze. Salt and burns were never as simple as they seemed, though he wished they were. While he hated leaving Dean and the others, he knew that they had to be smart in order to succeed. He just hoped that they were keeping the ghosts distracted enough not to realize that he was sneaking around the long way.

The overhead lights flickered, but he was certain that it wasn't just affecting his side of the warehouse.

A scary thought entered his mind—how would he do this on his own? Could he? While his father had hunted solo, he had the tunnel-vision, solo focus of finding what had killed his wife. They'd already killed Azazel, who had spurred Sam to hunt again after Jess's tragic death. Now he was along for the ride because it seemed like the thing to do, because all he had left in the world was his brother. But, with Dean gone in six or eight months, what could he do? He couldn't do this—sneak off while someone else kept the ghost entertained.

He couldn't replace his hunting partner. Besides the fact that Dean was one of a kind, Sam had been instilled, from a young age, not to trust just anyone. While he had friends, sure—like Chuck, like Becky—he had abandoned them when he returned to the hunter's life. He'd kept them in the dark, sheltering them from knowing that nightmares were real, until they stumbled into that reality on their own.

How could he be sure the next hunter wouldn't sacrifice him just to save their own skin? How could he be sure that they would fight for him as hard as Dean had?

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he took a breath before glancing around the back corner of the haunted house, getting a clear look at the ghost of Phillip Horton, still standing by the door. However, the entire side of the office facing Sam was made of windows, and some of the glass was already broken.

Desperate times calling for desperate measures, he hid on the far wall a moment longer, setting the duffel on the floor and pulling out the salt canister and the lighter fluid. There wasn't much salt left after drawing a circle for Chuck, Sarah, and Ellie, so he squeezed some of the lighter fluid into what was left of the salt. Making a runny paste, he hoped all he'd have to do is dump the canister and light it, instead of salting and then adding the accelerant.

He winced when he heard Dean yelling, taunting the ghost harder, playing up on the story that Cooper had told them, that Horton had been riddled with guilt after the accidental death of his daughter.

"What kinda guy kills his own daughter? Huh? No man does that, no real man does," Dean said loudly.

Sam peeked around the corner again, watching as Horton started moving away, out of his line of vision. Inhaling deeply, he started running.

* * *

After hearing what Betty had to say to her again, Ellie started to take a step back.

Chuck caught her, though, and pulled her tightly against his side. "No, no, watch the edges…"

Ellie glanced at her feet, and realized she had nearly disrupted the salt.

Sarah wasn't quite sure what to do. Betty stood directly in front of her, almost protectively, standing between her and the henchman.

He sneered at her but he didn't advance.

"Leave," Betty repeated. Her tone softened, though, almost pleading. "I want you to."

Sarah tilted her head slightly to one side. The henchman's shoulders dropped slightly and he glanced away from Betty. Deciding maybe her partner had a point, and attacking first might be the way to go, she swung the crowbar, slicing through Betty first and then, taking a step forward, through the henchman. Both seemed to fade like smoke, like morning fog when the iron bar moved through their spaces.

Chuck blinked. "What was that?"

Sarah could only shrug.

All of their attention was drawn to the back of the warehouse, where Casey was on the floor and Dean was barely standing up. Both looked like they'd gone ten rounds with a prize fighter.

"C'mon," Dean said, holding his arms out, not even aiming the shotgun at Horton. "Tell me somethin'," he said, laughing. "I need to know… 'cause I can't get it through my head. What kinda guy kills his own daughter?"

Horton twitched, his image flickering.

"Huh?" Dean taunted. He shook his head, answering his own question: "No man does that, no real man does."

Ellie screamed when the same penetrating wind blew, and the salt around them scattered.

Horton was suddenly over Dean, forcing the hunter to his knees. His ghostly fingers were wrapped tightly around Dean's neck. The shotgun was just out of reach.

Casey glanced back at the Intersect and Ellie, but they were fine—just scared. Dean, however, was in serious trouble, as his face was blue and shading deeper with each passing second.

"Casey?" Sarah asked.

He got to his feet slowly, holding a hand out to steady her, a quiet order to keep her position.

Chuck and Ellie both gasped when they saw Sam rush into the office behind Casey.

Casey moved slowly, quietly, in order to get an angle where he wouldn't accidentally hit Dean or the newly reappearing Sam. As he aimed and squeezed the trigger, he realized he was out of ammo.

Sarah winced for her partner, watching as he backed up to reload.

Worse than that, Betty and the henchman suddenly appeared on either side of Casey.

"John, look out!" Ellie cried.

It was too late. The gun went one way, and the ammo scattered the other. Casey was flung back toward the others. Sarah moved further forward, her eyes never once drifting from the other two ghosts.

Dean desperately stretched his fingers toward his shotgun. He needed that weapon. His vision was growing dim, and he knew it was because of the lack of oxygen. He had seconds left, if he was lucky.

* * *

The flask and the revolver sat on the desk, just like Casey had said. Sam tossed the necklace with the other two items, but he picked up the revolver. The last thing that they needed was an accidental shot being fired. Thankfully, the cylinder was empty. Setting it back on the desk, he liberally coated the three items with the salty fluid. He could hear Sarah call out, and a half a breath later, Ellie screamed.

He reached into the duffel, pulling out the lighter. If it didn't work, if there were bones somewhere, or if they were buried in a local cemetery, it wouldn't help much, but it might at least upset them, make them disappear for a moment.

Sending up a silent prayer, he lowered the lighter to the puddle of fluid.

The fire quickly covered the items, engulfing them. As it crackled and snapped, he glanced out the open door, seeing Horton hovering over his brother. Dean gave one last struggling reach toward his weapon before his hand fell limply at his side.

Sam wasn't ready for his brother to go—then or ever. "Dean!"

Sam's powerful yell caught everyone's attention. Even Casey, who had the henchman's hand deep within his chest, feeling the frigid fingers seem to grip his heart, turned.

Before all their eyes, Horton's transparency seemed to flicker, but not like it had before. It seemed to glow a warm orange, and the flickering was like flames lapping slowly up his portly body.

Casey gritted his teeth, fighting against calling out when he realized the icy touch suddenly spiked red hot. Even the henchman seemed to be made of fire, as did Betty.

In her last moments, Betty turned to Ellie, giving the doctor a broad smile, before she vanished.

The energy in the room shifted, and it seemed far warmer than it had a second ago.

Casey knelt down, placing a hand on his chest.

Sam rushed out, watching helplessly as Dean slipped from the remnants of Horton's grasp and landed heavily on the floor. "Dean!"

Sarah glanced back at Ellie, who was already finding her unsteady feet and moving forward.

"John?"

Casey nodded. "Help Winchester."

Sam remembered that Ellie was a doctor, and he couldn't be happier that they had immediate help. Reluctantly, he backed a step away, to let her work.

Ellie checked for a pulse, which was thready at best. Though her hands still shook from the scare of her life, having something to focus on that she knew was helping to calm her down. She adjusted his head very carefully, so she could begin CPR. "Chuck, the first aid kit…"

Chuck scrambled toward the haunted house, where there were strategically placed kits along the walls, by the entrance and exit. As the benefit was being put on by a hospital, of course they would have the necessary equipment.

Sarah advanced slowly, stopping by her partner, giving a hand to Casey, who accepted it. "Are you all right?" she asked as she pulled him to his feet.

He nodded. "As far as I know." He still absently rubbed at his chest.

Chuck ran the kit to Ellie's side, and Sam watched as Ellie placed a clear mask over Dean's nose and mouth, compressing the device to force the room's air back into his lungs.

The tense moments that followed were in near silence.

Sam knew that Dean had pretty good lungs as they'd been taught from a young age how to swim, and they used to have contests to see how long they could hold their breaths. But, they weren't kids any more, and Dean still looked ghastly blue.

Ellie mentally counted the compressions on the device before moving to chest compressions and back to the device. She was completely focused on the fading life in front of her, doing what she was trained to do. It was the only thing she'd known for certain all day. "C'mon, Dean," she said softly.

When Dean coughed on his own, sputtering and trying to turn his head away from the forced air, Sam nearly hit the ground as the relief washed over him.

As Dean opened his eyes, he realized that Ellie was over him, and she was removing the CPR device from his mouth. "Hi there," he said, his voice so hoarse it was nearly gone.

"He'll be fine," Sam assured them. He moved to offer Dean a hand.

Ellie, too, helped him get to a seated position first, before slowly moving him to his feet.

"So, did we get 'em?" Dean asked, his arm around his brother's shoulders.

No sooner had he asked the question, the warehouse's sprinkler system kicked on.

In Sam's haste to get to his brother, he'd forgotten that he'd left the desk on fire, and that the piece of furniture was still ablaze.

"Yeah," Sam said. "We got 'em. We should probably also go."

Dean nodded, moving his feet slowly, one in front of the other, leaning heavily on Sam.

In his numerous trips against the warehouse's walls, Casey didn't remember being shoved into a fire extinguisher. He trusted that the sprinklers would do their job. He did look at Ellie's masterpiece, the maze, but the cracked walls were a mess, and the water seeping in wouldn't help matters much. Granted, after their experiences, he wondered if they would even continue with the fundraiser.

* * *

After arriving back at the apartment, everyone changed into dryer clothes and congregated in Ellie's living room. Dean's neck had tell-tale finger shaped bruising, and he had a split lip and a black eye. Casey was leaning forward, with bags of frozen peas on his back. He had a cut on his forehead, and he still had a peculiar feeling in his chest, one that he hoped would vanish on its own.

Ellie rubbed at her arm. "Dinner'll be ready shortly, and Devon should be home soon, too."

"What are we going to tell him?" Chuck asked, glancing at Casey and Sarah. "Or anyone, for that matter."

Casey and Sarah knew the unasked question was: 'What are we gonna tell Beckman?'

"The, uh, _arson_ investigators won't believe your ghost story," Dean said, still hoarse. "No matter how earnestly you tell them, so that's out."

"We could say… nothing," Sarah ventured cautiously. While she knew Casey would back her up, and Dean and Sam seemed to be okay with that, she wasn't sure how Ellie would take it.

"Your friend Benson knew the story; he's the one who told us about Horton and his daughter," Sam said, glancing at Ellie. "If you tell him in confidence that his ghost problem is solved, then I imagine he'll gloss over the cause of the fire, especially if that means he can sell the property now. And he should, because the strange happenings will cease now."

"They're done done?" Chuck asked. "Like, for good done?"

Sam nodded. After changing, he'd searched the cemetery records for Horton and his daughter. "They're gone."

Casey cleared his throat. "It is near Halloween. Some pesky kids might've been looking for trouble, set a fire…"

"I can't even… comprehend what we did, what I saw," Ellie said.

They all froze when they heard a scratching sound at the front door.

Devon took a step into the apartment, then paused. "Uh, hi guys. Dinner party, babe? Sweet."

Ellie shrugged a little. "Honey, this is Sam, a friend of Chuck's from college, and his brother, Dean."

"Whoa, dude. That's quite a shiner."

Dean smiled, swallowing the response he would've said, mostly because it hurt to speak.

As Devon crossed toward them, he realized that Casey, too, looked the worse for wear. "You too, Casey? What happened?"

"Seems we had a misunderstanding," Casey said, glancing at Dean.

"We're square now, right?" Dean asked.

Casey grunted affirmatively.

"Well, any friend of Chuck's is a friend of ours," Devon said, nodding to Sam. "Glad you and your brother could join us for dinner."

* * *

After dinner, Casey stepped out into the courtyard. He stretched his back, glad to be away from the others for a moment. His solitude was quickly shattered however.

Dean stood at Ellie's front door. "So, Colonel…"

Casey turned to see him.

He stepped slowly toward the fountain in the center of the courtyard, where Casey lingered. "Look, whatever you, or Chuck, or whoever thinks I did… I didn't."

The Marine shrugged. "You looked after my charge," he said, nodding back toward the apartment they'd just vacated. "As good an excuse as any to buy you a pass." He smiled. "This time."

Dean chuckled. "I'll take whatever chance I can get."

Casey held his hand out to him.

Dean accepted it, thankful for a little understanding on the part of someone he wasn't sure they could win over.

"Your father raised two honorable sons."

"We were tasked with our mission, just like you."

"Semper fidelis," Casey said quietly.

"Ooh-rah," Dean returned.

Casey smirked. "Stay out of trouble."

"Trouble finds us. Like today."

"I can see that. No offense, Winchester, but I hope we don't see each other again."

Dean shrugged. "I get that a lot."

* * *

Sam looked at Chuck. "I don't know what's going on, but I know you aren't just some geek."

Chuck shrugged. "I prefer the term 'nerd.' It's my official title."

Sam laughed. "You were destined for greater things."

"I thought that for you, too. I mean… you were pretty gung-ho about breaking away from your family…"

"One thing I learned from you and your family… it didn't matter how small, or how broken…" Sam sighed. "Family's still family. It just took me a long time to realize that. And I can't leave Dean behind; I can't leave my life behind."

"Kinda glad today that you didn't. I mean, if we'd walked in there without realizing what was there… who knows what could've happened. Dean… Dean almost died."

"Occupational hazard," he said, forcing a smile.

Chuck looked at him. "Your father…?"

"And my mother. And… And Jess."

"What?"

Sam took a ragged breath. "Collateral damage. Because of who we are, what we do, they were… they were taken from us. It's my biggest regret, not being there, not protecting Jess."

"You want to get into blame, you should blame us—me, Bryce, Jill, Becky… the whole reason we went on that 'ghost' thing was to put the two of you together."

Sam looked at him questioningly.

"You two were perfect for each other. And we nudged you in the right direction. So, it wasn't your fault."

"It happened, at any rate," Sam said, hoping to absolve Chuck of his guilt. "And we can't go back and fix it."

"There are a lot of things like that," Chuck said with a sigh.

"There are some things we can fix. Like staying in touch this time."

The Intersect smiled. "Definitely."

"Take care of yourself, Chuck."

"You're leaving?"

Sam got to his feet, slowly nodding. "Dean and I, we have work to do."

"It was good to see you, buddy. Really good."

"You too," agreed Sam, accepting the hug from Chuck.

Chuck led Sam out of his room, into the living room where Devon and Ellie were seated on the couch.

"Thanks for dinner, Ellie. As always, it was amazing."

Ellie got to her feet. "Any time, Sam. You're always welcome here."

"Devon, it was very nice to meet you."

"You takin' off already?" Devon asked.

"My brother and I need to hit the road," Sam said with a nod.

"It's late," Ellie said, rubbing at her arm. "You sure you don't want a good night's sleep before you go?"

"We've got a couch, to put one of you up at least," Devon added. "I bet we could find an air mattress somewhere."

"I appreciate the offer, really, but…"

Dean let himself back into the apartment. "Ready, Sammy?"

Sam pointed at Dean as response to Devon, shrugging. He moved forward, hugging Ellie for a minute. "You're fine," he whispered to her hair. "It's all over."

She smiled a little as he pulled back. "Thanks, Sam."

"Bye, Ellie, Chuck…"

Chuck gave a final wave to Sam.

As Dean led the way across the courtyard, he tossed the car keys to Sam. "Be careful with my baby."

"Thanks." When Dean looked at him questioningly, Sam responded: "for being careful with my friends."

"They're good people. Maybe after I'm gone, you could come back here."

"Yeah," Sam said sadly. "Maybe."

* * *

End.


End file.
